


Signs Point to Yes

by Heather_Night



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cursed Stiles Stilinski, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Sex, POV Derek, Pack, Scott is a Good Friend, Yoga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-08 00:26:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8822332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather_Night/pseuds/Heather_Night
Summary: “Is that a…no, it can’t be,” Stiles cut himself off, “I must be seeing things.”  Stiles’s voice was hoarse and cracked on the last word.  Derek itched to bundle him up and keep him safe.
“No, you’re not seeing things.  This is actually a magically enhanced Magic 8 Ball.  I’m going to use it to divine whether something unnatural is influencing your health.  With your permission of course,” Deaton tacked on.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I recently took up yoga and was itching to incorporate it into one of my stories. May I please introduce you to Yoga Instructor Derek?

Derek looked around the living room where the McCall Pack was holding a meeting. Something seemed incomplete but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Scott had matured into a conscientious, patient and strong-willed Alpha. Derek could’ve predicted that after the way the True Alpha had handled the Darach and Deucalion.

Kira was a nice, steadying influence on Scott as well. Derek had liked Kira—her sense of humor, smarts and kindness—from the first time they’d met.

The rest of the pack was a motley, diverse crew. 

Brent looked the part of steadfast beta and despite the physical differences, reminded him of Boyd. If he was Boyd, that made Hayden the Erica of this pack with her sass belied by a sweet smile. Liam was young and had an innocence about him that was odd for a turned were. 

Lydia was…Lydia. Derek never could figure out her allure. Sure she was pretty and smart but so were other girls. Quite frankly Derek found her terrifying.

Mason fulfilled the token human role. He was sarcastic but his comments lacked a certain bite that his predecessor had displayed.

Oh.

Stiles.

Stiles was the missing piece. Derek opened his mouth to ask after the squirrely, sardonic young man but Scott cleared his throat. “I guess we’ll start with pack updates. As you know, Malia is still visiting family but she’ll be back next month. The main reason I called this meeting was that I’d like to welcome Derek Hale into our pack. Everyone, this is Derek.”

A chorus of hellos and welcomes bounced around the room. Everyone smelled content. Happy. It was weird but not unpleasant. Derek supposed he’d get used to being apart of the modern Mickey Mouse Club with the good looks, upstanding character and cheerfulness that sometimes set his teeth on edge.

Derek smiled as he thought of Scott playing the part of Dudley Do-Right, with his strong, uneven jaw line, ethics that would put most people to shame and that can-do attitude that sometimes came across as dim-witted even though Scott was anything but. He wondered who would be cast as Snidely Whiplash, Nell, Boris, Natasha and the rest of the cartoon characters.

Derek detested small talk but if he wanted to remain in the pack, he needed to know his other pack mates. He made the rounds as Scott and Kira pulled out chips, dip and soda, mingling as one unit.

Somehow he ended up standing next to Lydia. “Um.” Derek could’ve kicked himself; he was never eloquent but he could do better than that. “Where’s Stiles?”

Lydia’s eyebrows arched upward, her mouth bowing into an o. “He’s—”

“Here Lydia, Diet Coke. You’d better have this before Mason drinks it all.” Kira slid a red Solo cup into Lydia’s hand. “What can I get you to drink, Derek?”

The moment had passed and Derek still didn’t know the whereabouts of Stiles. He figured he’d eventually find out.

-0-

Derek was settling into his new life.

He got along with everyone in the pack. Things were quiet on the supernatural front. He’d even gotten a job at the Community Center; he’d taken quite a bit of good natured ribbing when the pack had found out he was teaching yoga classes.

Of everyone’s response, Mason’s had been the funniest. The sweet looking young man had looked Derek up and down and visibly gulped. “I want to be your yoga mat,” he had muttered. Liam had pulled him away with a shrug before Mason could say anything else embarrassing but the damage had been done and everyone was snorting with laughter.

Derek had moved into the kitchen, and was dumping ice cubes out of their containers into a bowl, when he heard Kira ask softly, “So when is he coming back?”

Scott replied, “Mom said next week. He’s had a tough time of it and he wants to be near his dad.”

“Maybe he wants to be near you too,” she cajoled.

“He doesn’t want anything to do with me,” Scott answered. His tone was sad as were the chemosignals flooding in from the other room. The sadness was interrupted with the sharp tang of pain: “Ouch! What did you do that for?”

“Because you’re moping. And you’re wrong. Stiles didn’t say he didn’t want anything to do with you, he said he needed a break from all of the supernatural bullshit. Just be patient,” Kira said in a nonsense tone. It was obvious they’d had this conversation many times before.

“I know. I just never thought he’d, you know, stay away for this long.” Scott was back to sounding morose.

“You need a hug.” Derek heard what sounded like a kiss, not a hug. “There. Now buck up, you have a pack meeting to hold.” Kira uttered good-naturedly.

Derek tucked that bit of information away, wishing he knew the full story. He’d always thought of Scott and Stiles as a matched set. Scott-and-Stiles. Almost like it was a jointly led pack. It had been weird hanging around Scott without Stiles.

At least maybe next week, when Stiles returned, Derek could figure out what was going on.

-0-

Derek was closing the double doors to the room to block out excess noise when he heard a body whipping around the corner. “Am I too late?”

Holding the door open, Derek ushered the last person into his class. He wasn’t paying too much attention to the newcomer, focusing instead on his upcoming lesson plan for the session. “Just in time. Please sign the waiver sheet if you haven’t been here before and then sign in.”

“Derek?”

Even before his name was said, Derek had picked up the scent. His head snapped up. “Stiles?”

“Is it okay if I take your class?” The human asked as he walked to the table and grabbed a sheet, skimming over it, before signing. He hadn’t waited for an answer, either confident in the answer or not really caring.

“Of course.” Derek said, gesturing to the space before him. “Just pick a place.”

Stiles went to the end of the middle row like someone who was used to assigned seating. He toed off his shoes before quickly unrolling the black mat. He gracefully settled on it with his knees crossed, hands on his knees. The moves were practiced and efficient—Stiles was no novice.

Derek changed the lights to their lowest setting before he settled on his own mat. “Everyone, let’s start with some breathing together. Specifically, ujjayi breathing.”

The next fifty minutes flew by as Derek took the class through some basics incorporating some of his favorites including Downward-Facing Dog and the Warrior poses. He tried to distribute his attention evenly across the ten students but his focus kept gravitating toward Stiles.

Stiles had physically matured since Derek last saw him. His waist seemed trimmer but that might just be because his shoulders were broader. The ratio between shoulders and waist made Derek want to adjust himself. Stiles was also very limber and graceful. If Derek hadn’t already known Stiles, he would be attracted to him. Hell, who was Derek trying to fool—he was attracted to Stiles.

After Savasana, Stiles rolled to his feet before bundling up his mat. Derek kept track of Stiles’s movements even as he spritzed lavender to those in his class who asked for it, watching as the younger man slid his socked feet into shoes.

Stiles slid toward the door before Derek had a chance to talk to him. He’d had some half-formed idea of inviting the younger man out for a drink. 

“Thanks, Derek. See you next week!” Stiles called out as Derek was busy with the lavender.

Next week. Oh. Stiles planned on returning.

Derek smiled and the woman before him widened her eyes in surprise. Cora called that smile his serial killer smile. It broke out when he was very happy.

Mondays may have just become his new favorite day of the week.

-0-

“And now take your final relaxation pose. Lie flat on your back with your legs straight and your arms at your sides. Rest your hands about six inches away from your body with your palms up. Let your feet drop open. Close your eyes.” Derek paused and glanced around to make sure everyone was in the corpse pose; he hated the name of the position, he much preferred Savasana, but he had to admit the other appellation was very fitting. This pose, whatever you called it, was the only way to end each class in his opinion. 

“Deepen your breathing and let it occur naturally,” Derek encouraged quietly. The ten students slowed their inhalations, chests moving up and down in an easy, slow cadence.

“Let the tension in your feet release. Now your calves.” He slowly named ascending body parts, giving the class a chance to inhale and exhale at least once before progressing, “Thighs…low back…shoulders…neck.”

“Allow your body to feel heavy on the ground.” He watched as the chests moved up, then down. “Relax your face. Let your eyes drop deep into their sockets. Let your tongue drop from the roof of your mouth. Invite peace and silence into your mind, body and soul.”

The room was silent save for the steady, slow breathing. 

When Derek judged the class had been in Savasana for five minutes he called to them quietly, “Deepen your breath. Bring gentle movement and awareness back to your body, wiggling your toes and your fingers. Good. Now roll to your right side and rest for a moment. When you’re ready, sit up and assume Easy position with your legs crossed and your hands on your knees.”

Derek loved teaching yoga but he was definitely eager for this class to end. He watched as the students complied with his request, first rolling to their right side and then sitting up cross-legged.

Everyone except Stiles. 

The younger man continued to breathe in and out, slowly and deeply; Derek didn’t have to be a werewolf with enhanced senses to know Stiles had fallen asleep.

The three men in the back row glanced at Stiles and then back at Derek. Derek made eye contact with each one, slowly shaking his head no. He didn’t know what was going on with Stiles but it was obvious he was exhausted. The other man had dragged into class, his movements sluggish, and his skin pale. Derek had wanted to ask Stiles out but now he sensed the timing was wrong. 

Derek cleared his throat. “Press your hands together level with your heart. Bring your hands to your forehead; may your mind think kind thoughts. Hands to your lips; may your mouth speak kind words. Hands to your heart; kind heart. Thank you for sharing the beautiful practice of yoga with me. Namaste.”

Derek rose to his feet and dialed up the lighting before he meandered around the outskirts of the group, heading toward his wayward student, nodding and thanking everyone he passed. He placed himself between Stiles and the others, shielding him from their prying eyes, as he watched them stretch, pull their shoes on and roll up their mats. 

“There is lavender on the front table if anyone would like to spritz themselves,” Derek reminded the class in a soft voice.

The studio was finally bereft of the other students, only a concerned Derek and sleeping Stiles left. Derek kneeled down next to the supine body. “Stiles?”

In the privacy of his own home, Derek might have wondered what Stiles looked like when he slept. He’d imagined a sleeping Stiles akin to a kitten, all rumpled and slow moving.

The Stiles before him was adorable but he wasn’t moving, slow or otherwise, aside from breathing. The younger man twitched, his brow crinkling, but he didn’t open his eyes. Up close Derek confirmed what he’d noticed when Stiles had entered his class—the human was exceedingly pale with dark circles under the eyes that he associated with fatigue. 

Derek squeezed Stiles’s shoulder while speaking to him, “Hey Stiles, can you open your eyes for me?” He kept his voice quiet and steady even though his heart was beginning to hammer its concern over Stiles’s unresponsive state.

On the verge of grabbing his cell phone and calling someone for help, Derek calmed down as Stiles’s breathing picked up. A moment later heavy eyelids lifted, blinking slowly.

Stiles’s eyes finally seemed to focus on Derek. “Ah!” The younger man yelped, rolling up to a seated position so quickly he almost smacked his forehead on Derek’s. “What happened?” Stiles asked as he looked around. “Where is everyone?” One hand clutched over his chest and the other one the side of his head. “Whoa, head rush.”

Derek had almost forgotten how quickly Stiles’s heart could beat when adrenaline flooded his system. It was worrying but everything about Stiles was worrying him at the moment—his visible lethargy, his wan complexion, the fact that he’d fallen asleep during class, and his apparent dizziness.

Stiles was staring at Derek like he should have the answers. Then it occurred to Derek that Stiles had asked him a question. “Class is over. Everyone left,” he explained gently.

The younger man buried his face in his hands. “Oh my God, I fell asleep didn’t I?” He peaked at Derek from between long fingers spread open across his face. 

Derek should’ve found the gesture childish but instead it was endearing. “Yeah. You did fall asleep.”

Stiles let his hands drop away from his face. “I’m so sorry. That’s unbelievably rude. I can’t believe I did that.”

“I can,” Derek responded.

Stiles huffed. “Of course. I guess I’ve always been rude in your opinion. Let me get out of your hair.” The scent of embarrassment saturated the air.

Derek wasn’t a stupid person but he had always been slower to words than his siblings. Definitely slower than Stiles who had always seemed to wield words like a weapon. This, communicating with Stiles, was important to him though so he struggled to force the words out. “Not because I think you’re rude, because you’re obviously exhausted. What’s going on, Stiles? What can I do to help?”

A gentle sigh fell from parted lips. Parted pink lips Derek may have dreamed about kissing. “I wish I could tell you but I can’t.”

Oh. Derek might have feelings for Stiles, but they apparently weren’t reciprocated. It stung. “Do you want me to call Scott for you?”

“What? Scott, no, why would I want you to call Scott? I’d tell you if there was something to tell. I didn’t mean I know what the problem is and I chose not to tell you, I mean I don’t have a freaking clue about what’s wrong with me,” Stiles drew an audible breath. He heart was still thundering along at an unpredictable, too fast pace that Derek recognized from too many close calls when they were younger.

Derek had to work hard to keep the smile from his face. For a moment there he’d felt like he’d been picked last for the kickball team but it sounded more like he’d been picked first. Although right now Stiles’s health was more important than his schoolyard analogies.

“Do you think maybe some food would help?” Derek didn’t know anything about fatigue but he did know Stiles was on the lean side and could probably stand a good meal. Derek thought about the contents of his refrigerator. “I could make you an omelet.”

Stiles smiled but he seemed a bit bewildered, eyes wide and brow creased. “Really? Um, that would be great. Thanks.” 

Derek rose to his feet and put a hand out. He wasn’t sure why Stiles doubted he’d make something for him. Well maybe because there was a time Derek would sooner smack Stiles’s head into the nearest available surface than talk to him but that was a long time ago. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride to my house and afterward if you feel like it I’ll bring you back for your car.”

He’d half expected an argument but Stiles continued to smile as he grabbed Derek’s hand with both of his, pulling himself upward. “I didn’t know you could cook—”

Stiles was almost upright when he crumpled without warning and Derek darted forward using his supernatural speed to wrap an arm around the slim waist, trying to stop his descent. “Stiles?”

The younger man was silent as he slumped against Derek, his head lolling back, face a bloodless white. 

Derek lifted Stiles into his arms when he realized the younger man wasn’t coming around. “Shit,” he bit out as he lowered Stiles back to his mat. He rearranged long, lean limbs to a more comfortable position, willing his friend to wake up. 

Stiles remained unmoving except for his chest, which rose and fell in an even cadence. First aid was something that was drilled into the gym staff, even yoga instructors, and Derek relied on that training since panic was settling in. 

“Hey, Derek, everything okay?” Joni, the evening manager, stuck her head in the doorway. 

Derek startled; he hadn’t heard her approach he was so busy freaking out. “He just passed out. He’s not coming back around.”

Joni crossed to the wall-mounted phone, picking up the receiver and jabbing three buttons. “Yes, we need an ambulance at the Recreation Center. One of our patrons has passed out.”

Checking Stiles’s airway, Derek was pleased to find it was unrestricted. His breathing continued at a steady, regular pace but his heartbeat was rapid. Too rapid. 

“Derek, can you give me any details?” Jodi asked, responding to the question posed by the responder on the line.

“He fell asleep during class and when he tried to stand up, he passed out. He’s been out since then, maybe five minutes,” Derek answered as he carefully rolled the inert Stiles toward him onto his side. 

“Do you know if he has any medical conditions? Any other symptoms? How old he is?” Joni continued to pass on the questions from the person on the line.

“No, I’m not aware of any medical conditions. He has excessive pallor and he admitted he’s fatigued. Oh, and he’s twenty-three years old. Joni, it’s Sheriff Stilinski’s son, Stiles.”

Joni relayed the information as Derek bent Stiles’s top leg so both his hip and knee were at right angles. He finished putting Stiles into recovery position by tilting his head back gently to keep his airway open.

Derek chafed Stiles’s hand between his own, concerned at how cool his skin felt. 

Joni wrapped up the call and hung up before crossing to Derek’s side. She squeezed his shoulder. “It looks like you’ve got everything under control here so if you’re okay with it I’m going to wait for them by the door to let them in and show them here.”

That was funny because Derek didn’t feel like he had anything under control. “Yeah, I’ve got this. Could you maybe grab a blanket before you go? He seems chilled to me,” Derek asked, his eyes remaining on the slack features of his friend, willing him to rouse. Keeping someone warm who had fainted—and he almost smiled because he could imagine Stiles strenuously arguing that he hadn’t fainted—was the last step in the first aid protocol.

“You got it,” Joni said, leaving the room quickly. She was back quickly, draping a gray thermal emergency blanket over Stiles.

The Community Center was just down the road from the Fire Station and Derek heard the siren blaring as the ambulance rolled out of the garage. “Thanks, Joni.”

Joni cocked her head to the side. Even without enhanced senses, the siren could now be heard. “That’s my signal. They should be here in a few minutes.”

Derek felt minor relief wash over him. It was obvious Stiles needed some sort of medical intervention and soon he would have it.

-0-

Derek tried to relax but the hard vinyl chairs in the ER Waiting Room were not conducive to comfort. 

Once Joni realized Derek knew Stiles, was his friend, she had offered to hold down the fort at the Community Center and Derek had jumped at the opportunity to go to the hospital. He was way too anxious to settle down without knowing what was going on and now he found himself shifting in the chair, wishing for something to take his mind off worrying.

The glass door to the entrance slid open and Stiles’s father dashed inside, panic telegraphed with each hard pound of his heart. He stopped at the front desk where he was told Stiles was being evaluated and that someone would be out shortly to take him back. 

The older man turned, hard stare cataloguing the few people in the room, before settling his attention on Derek. “Derek, what’s going on?” Is it something,” the sheriff stopped speaking and instead made some complicated gesture with his hand. In that moment Derek could see the similarity between father and son.

Derek climbed to his feet, shaking his head no. “It was yoga, sir.”

“Yoga?” Disbelief colored the man’s tone, his eyebrows crawling up high on his forehead.

“I’m an instructor at the Community Center and Stiles fell asleep during my yoga class. I could tell he was tired so I let him sleep but after everyone was gone, I helped him to his feet and he passed out,” Derek explained as succinctly as he could.

Quick feet bustled toward them and Derek looked over the sheriff’s shoulder to see Melissa McCall heading their way. Before she could open her mouth, the sheriff had turned around and was peppering her with questions. “Is Stiles awake? What happened? Is he going to be okay?”

“No, he’s still unconscious. They’re running some tests. Come on, I’ll take you back to him.” The nurse grabbed the sheriff’s wrist and started towing him toward the door leading to the treatment area. 

The sheriff latched on to Derek’s forearm in turn. “Come on, I’m not done talking to you yet.”

Eyebrows raised as they passed by the nurses’ station and Derek had to concede they were probably a sight to see—three adults seemingly holding hands and walking in single file. Stiles certainly would’ve been amused.

Derek hovered in the doorway as the other two entered the treatment cubicle. He could see Stiles was flat on his back, hooked up to monitors and IVs, pale and unmoving.

“Oh kid, what have you done to yourself this time,” the sheriff grumbled softly as he took the hand unencumbered by machinery between his own hands. 

“Do you know if Stiles has been injured recently?’ Melissa asked. “We’re trying to rule out internal bleeding.”

The sheriff was shaking his head no. “I’ve been working double shifts so I haven’t seen him except to say hello since Saturday but he seemed fine. Just tired. He didn’t mention anything.”

Melissa turned a searching look on Derek. He cleared his throat. “He, uh, doesn’t smell like blood?” Derek had meant that to be a statement not a question.

“But?” Melissa pressed. She would’ve made an impressive addition to the police force.

“Stiles looked exhausted the moment he came into class tonight. Pale and sluggish. He fell asleep on his mat. When he woke up I was pulling him to his feet and he collapsed. I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what’s going on with him.” Derek wished he had something more conclusive to add but he was just as baffled as the nurse and sheriff.

Melissa turned her attention back to the sheriff. “You don’t think this has anything to do with that stalker business back at UC-Berkeley?”

Derek perked up at mention of a stalker. Scott had mentioned Stiles had a tough go of it at school but he hadn’t disclosed the particulars, at least not to Derek.

“No, I don’t think so. He took out a restraining order and still managed to attend the POST classes before he came back. He didn’t say anything about Crazy Cassandra. He just said he missed us,” the sheriff explained.

“POST?” Melissa queried. Derek was glad she did because he was just as lost. And interested. Although he didn’t want to draw attention to himself; if they realized he was still there, they might not be as free with the information.

“Peace Officer Standards and Training. Police work is as crazy with the acronyms as medicine is these days,” the sheriff explained before turning his complete attention to his son. “Any ideas of why he’s not awake yet?”

As if on cue, a man in a white lab coat brushed past Derek to enter the room. He looked familiar but it took a moment to place him—Liam’s stepfather, Dr. Geyer.

“Well Sheriff, the blood test shows Stiles is anemic. We can’t find any signs of a bleed but we’re going to do a computerized tomography scan to make sure. In the mean time we’re going to give Stiles a blood transfusion, see if that helps,” the doctor explained.

“Anemia is bad, right?” Stiles’s dad asked, blue eyes piercing as he stared down the doctor. “Like cancer bad?”

Dr. Geyer returned the stare unflinchingly. “It’s not good but there are a variety of reasons why his iron could be down, and not just due to a chronic disease. It could be something as simple as a vitamin deficiency. We’re awaiting some other blood test results before he know something definitive.”

Melissa piped up, “I told Stiles he looked a little malnourished but he just joked, said Lydia had put him on some sort of diet.”

The sheriff agreed. “I thought he was a little underweight, too. I told him to work on it so he could pass the mandatory physical.” 

“I’m going to order that scan but first we’ll get that transfusion going. Melissa?” Dr. Geyer turned his attention to the nurse in purple scrubs.

“I’m on it, Dr. Geyer,” she replied as she hustled out of the cubicle.

The doctor excused himself leaving just the sheriff and Derek with Stiles.

“Can I get you anything?” Derek asked. 

Before the man could reply, a different voice, soft and shaky, answered. “Where’s my omelet?”

“Son, you’re awake!” the sheriff fussed over Stiles, adjusting his blanket, and hitting the call button. “How do you feel?”

“Tired. And hungry. What happened?” A groggy voiced Stiles asked. 

“Derek said you passed out after yoga class. Do you have some sort of injury or have you been feeling sick?” Stiles’s dad asked. He was trying to remain calm but Derek could see his foot beating out a tattoo impatiently under the bed.

“Nah, I’ve been fine.” Stiles answered. The sheriff raised an eyebrow at him and Stiles rolled his eyes in response; that at least was more in keeping with the Stiles Derek knew. “You know what I mean. Maybe extra tired but I’ve been busy training, trying to get ready for work.”

“Well you’re going to ready yourself right out of a job if you don’t slow down,” the sheriff said, maintaining eye contact with his son. “I’m not kidding, Stiles. Any department would be happy to have you but you need to quit pushing yourself so hard.”

“Yeah, okay, I guess this is a clear sign I’ve been over doing things. I’ll ease up a little,” Stiles said, a yawn creeping up on him. Once he was done yawning, Stiles looked vexed and out of sorts. “How long are these bloodsuckers keeping me here?”

Melissa hustled into the cubicle. “Tired of our hospitality already, Stiles?”

Stiles fumbled for the bed controls, raising the head of the bed.

The nurse knocked his hand away and returned him to a supine position. “Just relax and pretend you’re a compliant patient. We’re going to top off your oil supply and if the tests come back negative, we’ll kick you loose. These beds belong to the sick and injured, not the foolish and silly.” She checked Stiles’s ID band and then the plastic bag filled with a maroon substance before she hooked it to the IV stand.

“Don’t sugarcoat it there, Ms. McCall,” Stiles replied, laughing. “Tell me how you really feel.”

Once the blood was flowing into the IV attached to the back of Stiles’s hand, Melissa put her hands on her hips and stared down at Stiles. “I’ll tell you how I really feel. Relieved that you woke up, Sleeping Beauty.” She wagged her finger at him. “Don’t do that to me again, you understand?”

Stiles nodded his head yes and returned her look with a smile Derek could only call sweet, with one side of his mouth higher than the other and no teeth showing.

The nurse grabbed Stiles’s free hand and squeezed it. “I’ve got to check on my other patients. Please listen to the doctor and don’t make a fuss until he clears you.”

“Only because you asked so nicely,” Stiles said. His eyelids drifted down to cover his bright gaze. They popped open almost immediately.

“Get some rest, Stiles. Someone will be back in a while to take you to your scan,” Melissa said as she disappeared out the cubicle door.

“Son, I’m going to step outside to check in with station.” The sheriff turned his head and looked at Derek. “Do you mind staying with Stiles until I get back?”

Derek expected Stiles to put up a fuss but the younger man was too busy blinking his eyes open, fighting sleep.

“Of course. Take your time,” Derek responded. He didn’t plan on leaving the cubicle until someone kicked him out. 

The sheriff brushed his lips over Stiles’s forehead before he left the cubicle. “He’s still too pale,” he muttered as he walked down the hallway leading to the exit.

Derek lingered in the doorway for a moment before deciding he would look less shady if he sat next to Stiles. He pulled the chair in the corner next to Stiles’s bed, relieved to find it marginally more comfortable than the one in the ER Waiting Room.

Stiles’s heartbeat had settled into a steady rhythm but the sheriff was right—he was still too pale.

Concentrating on the soft breathing noises coming from the bed distracted Derek from the other sounds and smells of the ER.

Usually he couldn’t wait to get away from the hospital but this, sitting next to Stiles, felt right. Derek didn’t want to examine why that might be too closely.

-0-

Derek was in his apartment, contemplating eating cereal versus making an omelet—of course omelets reminded him of Stiles and his wolf wanted to provide for Stiles and take care of him in the worst way and that was quite frankly freaking him out—when he received a text from Scott, derailing his mini breakdown.

Stiles still sick. Meeting @ his house 11am.

His appetite immediately waned and Derek realized he was on the verge of a full blown panic attack.

Stiles had been discharged from the hospital ER after receiving a transfusion and a stern lecture from Melissa McCall last night and everyone, including Derek, had hoped that was the end of it and that was Stiles would start to feel better.

Glancing at the clock on the stove, Derek realized he had enough time to eat a yogurt and take a quick shower before he headed out.

With shaking hands Derek tapped out his response: _I’ll be there_.

In a daze he stumbled through his shower routine, reminding himself that this might be a temporary setback and Stiles would most likely be fine. 

He reminded himself of the same thing when he climbed into his Toyota. Stiles would give him hell for driving this soccer mom vehicle but it was a lot more practical than the Camaro. Maybe he’d get the vintage car out of storage and take Stiles for a spin soon. For old time’s sake. Minus the bullying tactics he’d used on the younger man. Of course in Derek’s defense he’d been absolutely terrified when Laura had gone missing, and then power tripping with his newly acquired Alpha powers. Had he ever asked Stiles to forgive him for his behavior?

Derek mentally slapped himself as he headed toward the Stilinskis. He was rambling, even if it was just in his thoughts, and he needed to get a hold of himself. Stiles might need him.

Pulling up to the curb, Derek recognized Scott’s Kawasaki and Lydia’s Prius at the curb as well as the Sheriff’s squad car and Stiles’s Jeep in the driveway. As he approached the house Derek looked longingly at the second story bedroom window, thinking about scaling the roof to make his usual entrance, when the front door opened.

Scott beckoned him inside. “Come on in. Stiles fell asleep in the living room so we’re in the kitchen.”

Derek followed the Alpha into the cozy kitchen where the sheriff and Lydia were seated at the round kitchen table, sipping from mugs. They both murmured a greeting to Derek.

The bitter tang of coffee tickled Derek’s nostrils and the sheriff took note of his gesture and nodded to the coffee pot on the counter. “Help yourself, kid.”

A tired smile cracked across Derek’s face; it had been a long time since anyone had called him ‘kid.’ 

Derek heard another vehicle pulling up outside of the house, thinking maybe it was another SUV by the sounds of the V-8 engine while he poured himself some coffee.

“I’ll be right back. It sounds like Dr. Deaton is here,” Scott announced.

This was an interesting group Scott had assembled. He wasn’t sure what they could do about Stiles being sick but he guessed he would find out shortly.

Alan Deaton entered the room, travel coffee mug clutched in his hand. The sheriff invited him to join them at the table.

The sheriff began to climb to his feet, “Derek, Scott, why don’t you go ahead and have a seat?”

Derek leaned back against the counter and realized he could see into the living room. Stiles was curled up on the couch, his brown hair the only thing visible outside of the blanket enveloping him. “I’m good here, thanks.”

The sheriff subsided into this chair and Scott shrugged and took the last seat at the table. 

“Sheriff, why don’t you tell everyone what’s going on,” Scott invited.

With one last fortifying sip of his coffee, the sheriff launched into a summary. “Since Stiles came home from school, he hasn’t been his usual energetic self. We both thought it was from him doing too much in preparation for the mandatory physical he needs to pass in order to join the sheriff’s department but apparently it’s more than that. He’s passed out twice now—once while with Derek and then early this morning—and despite having two blood transfusions, he’s very anemic. Dr. Geyer can’t find a reason and I’m beginning to wonder if maybe it could be, you know, something up your alley.”

Derek blinked his eyes hard, trying to process the information.

Deaton was the first to jump in for clarification. “You mean something supernatural?”

“I guess?” the sheriff responded, scrubbing a hand tiredly over his face. “All’s I know is that my son is sick and so far we don’t know why. I don’t want to rule out any possible causes.”

Lydia pursed her lips. “Do you know if Stiles just started feeling this way or has this been going on for a while?”

Scott cleared his throat. “Well I know he was worn down a bit because he said he wanted to take a break from the whole supernatural scene here in Beacon Hills. I can’t fault him for wanting a break but it’s kind of out of character for him.”

The sheriff chimed in, “Yeah, I couldn’t even get him to come home for a long weekend after the whole Crazy Cassandra thing went down.”

“Um, I’m not sure I’ve heard the whole Crazy Cassandra story. What exactly happened?” Derek asked.

“Stiles went on a few dates with a girl named Cassandra who he met in his Probability and Statistics class. She became obsessed with Stiles, started following him around,” Lydia began the story.

Scott jumped in, “Yeah and when he wouldn’t agree to date her anymore, she kind of lost it. Spray painted some sort of message on Stiles’s Jeep and actually tried to attack him after class one day.”

“I told him to get a restraining order and he did,” Sheriff Stilinski said. “The whole thing rattled him though, I could tell.”

“Yeah, you know it’s bad when he doesn’t want to spend bro-time with me,” Scott sounded depressed.

“So maybe Stiles started feeling crappy around the time this girl went psycho?” Derek suggested.

“You may be on to something,” Deaton nodded. “I’m going to get something out of my car. Derek, could you please help me while I conduct a little test? I want to see if something perhaps magical is at work here.”

Derek sat his cup on the counter. “Of course.”

Scott looked hurt, his dark eyes wide and moist, and Lydia pouted. Deaton ignored them both, rising to his feet. “We’ll be back in a moment.”

At the door, Deaton directed Derek to go over by Stiles. “I’ll be right back.”

Derek knelt down next to Stiles. From this angle he could see the curve of a pale cheek and a flash of bare skin in the form of the tendon behind Stiles’s delicate shell of ear. His wolf rumbled its appreciation.

The front door closed and Derek looked up expectantly. “Could you please wake up Stiles?”

Nodding his assent, Derek softly said the other man’s name. “Stiles. Can you hear me?”

A cute snuffling noise was his only response.

“Stiles, we need you to wake up for a minute. Can you do that?” Derek coaxed.

“Derek?” Stiles croaked, pulling the blanket away from his face. 

“Yeah, it’s me. Deaton wants to try something,” Derek indicated the druid standing in front of the couch.

“You brought a vet to treat me?” Stiles responded, sounding confused. “No offense, Doc.”

“None taken Mr. Stilinski,” the other man answered, his lips turning upward into some semblance of a smile. Bending down, Deaton withdrew what looked like a Magic 8 Ball.

“Is that a…no, it can’t be,” Stiles cut himself off, “I must be seeing things.” Stiles’s voice was hoarse and cracked on the last word. Derek itched to bundle him up and keep him safe.

“No, you’re not seeing things. This is actually a magically enhanced Magic 8 Ball. I’m going to use it to divine whether something unnatural is influencing your health. With your permission of course,” Deaton tacked on.

“I guess,” Stiles responded. “What do I have to do?”

“Derek is going to help you sit up and then I’m going to have you ask the Magic 8 Ball some questions. This should be pain free,” the druid explained.

“Yeah, sure, that sounds fine,” Stiles answered. He pushed his blanket down to his waist and struggled to sit up.

Derek was there to lend a hand, or in this case an arm, sliding it behind Stiles’s shoulders and levering him upright.

Stiles gave a little squeak and then wilted against Derek, passing out for a third time.

“What do I do?” Derek asked the vet anxiously.

“Give him a moment. If it’s orthostatic hypotension he should come around in a moment,” Deaton explained. The other man’s tone was mild but his attention was fully focused on Stiles and he looked concerned.

Derek wedged himself behind Stiles, leaning against the arm of the couch, propping Stiles’s back against his chest. Deaton was right, it didn’t take long before Stiles was nuzzling the side of his face into Derek’s chest. 

“Hey, Stiles, are you with me?” Derek bent his head, practically whispering. 

“Um, yeah,” the man in his arms replied, giving a little stretch. Adorable.

“Let’s begin then,” Deaton said. “Stiles, hold this upside down and ask the Magic 8 Ball if you’re under the influence of magic.”

Stiles took the black and white 8-ball and carefully turned it over, “Am I under the influence of magic?”

Very carefully, Stiles rotated the ball so the window faced up. The face of the die pressed against the window, the raised letters displacing the blue liquid to reveal the message as white letters on a blue background: _Yes._

When Stiles remained silent, Derek read the answer. 

Deaton looked thoughtful.

Stiles seemed to sag more against Derek’s chest.

“Please ask it if you have been cursed,” Deaton prompted.

Stiles tipped the ball over and Derek could feel the fine tremors shaking his body. He offered silent support by folding an arm around Stiles’s chest.

Stiles cleared his throat. “Have I been cursed?” He took a deep breath before flipping the ball over.

“Without a doubt,” Derek read again.

“Stiles, can you think of someone who wishes you harm? Ask if that person put the curse on you,” Deaton encouraged.

Derek had to help Stiles turn the black and white device over, his strength failing him.

“Did Cassandra curse me?” Stiles asked, voice cracking more.

Again Derek helped him turn the globe over, his hands cradling Stiles’s.

“You may rely on it,” Stiles whispered.

The ball began to tip out of Stiles’s hands but Deaton rescued it. “Thank you, Stiles. I think we can take care of this little problem for you.”

Stiles had either passed out again or had fallen asleep, his respirations deep and even.

Derek wanted to keep Stiles in the shelter of his arms but the young man needed his rest. Inching his way out from behind Stiles, Derek gently lowered the younger man until he was flat again. Derek tucking the blanket around his shoulders snuggly to ward off a chill.

Straightening up, listening as Deaton explained his findings to the sheriff, Scott already having heard them, Derek found Lydia leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Watching him.

He didn’t know what to expect, perhaps some teasing or even a rebuke, but Stiles’s friend gave Derek an approving nod before inviting him back into the kitchen with a soft smile.

They had plans to make if they were going to surprise Crazy Cassandra.

-0-

Derek pulled his Toyota up to the curb and put it in park. “This is the address.”

“All right. Let me do the talking. I just need you two to look suitably daunting if the young lady decides to make a run for it,” Deaton summed up the plan before they emerged from his vehicle.

“So you think this will work?” Scott queried as he emerged from the backseat.

“We have the element of surprise on our side. I think we just need to find whatever Cassandra took of Stiles and I can break the curse. After all, the more personal the item is and the more charged it is with their energy, the more powerfully the curse will cling to them. That would account for Stiles’s illness and I can disrupt that,” Deaton assuaged Scott’s fears. 

Derek sure hoped so. Stiles had fallen asleep in his arms and hadn’t woken up in the whole time they’d be at his house, making their plans to leave for Berkley. It was difficult to see the usually mobile young man so still and pale. And quiet.

“Gentleman, right this way,” the druid said as he made his way to the entrance of the apartment building, his long leather duster billowing behind him.

He reminded Derek of Nick Fury of Avengers fame in that moment. He didn’t share that thought though. He didn’t want to get on the wrong side of the formidable druid.

Someone, a young lady, was leaving the locked lobby as they strolled in.

“Hey, could you hold the door please?” Scott called out.

The blond looked up, looking gob smacked and did what Scott asked. “Any time,” she murmured, giving Scott the one over before she headed out into the sunshine.

The trio eschewed the elevator and instead took the stairs up to the third floor. Apartment 303.

Deaton knocked on the door and they heard someone inside. “Coming!” a high, feminine voice sang out.

The door whipped open and Derek got his first look at Crazy Cassandra.

The girl had long, wavy, nearly black hair. Sharp cheekbones. A cute overbite. Pretty hazel eyes. She looked very familiar to Derek but he couldn’t place from where.

“Um, may I help you?” the girl asked, staring blankly at them.

“Yes, Cassandra, I’d like to talk to you about Stiles,” Deaton responded.

“Oh, well, I haven’t seen him…well…since…it’s been awhile,” she said, frowning. “I guess you can come inside.” She seemed awfully polite for a stalker. 

Scott gave Derek a look and shrugged and they stepped inside. Derek was on the look out for a trap but really the apartment looked like it belonged to a poor college student, not a practitioner of the dark arts, with empty pizza boxes and dirty dishes strewn amongst the textbooks.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Cassandra asked, folding her arms over her ample bust. 

“Stiles is very sick,” Deaton said. “Do you know anything about that?”

“No?” Cassandra answered but it was more of a question then a statement. Her creamy skin paled and she exuded the chemosignals Derek associated with intense anxiety.

“Cassandra, I know you put a curse on Stiles. Why would you do that?” Deaton needled the young lady.

She folded like a cheap deck chair. “I didn’t know it would work!” she wailed. “I love Stiles and he won’t have anything to do with me so I took something of his and I did this spell. It’s supposed to bring him back to me!”

“Well if he was physically closer to you he might not be so sick any more but Stiles is afraid of you. Quite frankly, putting a curse on someone is no way to hold his or her interest,” Deaton rebuked her.

“I know, I know,” she whimpered. “It’s just I’m like obsessed him. I need him to be mine.”

“Cassandra, how long have you been a practitioner?” Deaton’s voice had gentled.

Scott shot Derek another look and they both shrugged. Derek wanted to wrap a hand around this girl’s throat and squeeze until she removed the curse but the druid was taking a different tact.

“A wwhat?” Cassandra stammered.

“A practitioner? Are you in a coven?” Deaton probed but his questions were met with another blank look.

“You mean like the video game?” she finally responded.

“Cassandra, how did you find your spell?” the druid asked, tone slow and patient.

“On the internet,” was her response.

“Of course,” Deaton nodded although his tone had now acquired an edge. “The internet. Cassandra, I want you to show me this object you took from Stiles so I can remove the curse. Can you do that for me?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” Cassandra burst into tears before she darted into the back room.

Deaton put his hands out, catching Derek in the chest. “I don’t think she’s running. Let’s give her a moment.”

Derek had already taken a step toward the hallway and so had Scott.

Cassandra returned to the living room, red material clutched in her hand. “Here, this was his favorite hoody.”

Deaton took the sweatshirt from the quivering young lady. After taking a deep breath he said something that sounded like, “Aufero maledictio.”

Derek’s ears popped as though he had yawned.

“Cassandra, dear. I think I know what’s going on here,” Deaton broke the moment of silence. He reached back and handed the sweatshirt to Derek.

“You do? Because I sure don’t. I had a 4.0 before I met Stiles and then everything went off the rails for me. I feel like I’m losing my mind,” she said, sinking down on to a floral patterned sofa.

“I think you’re coming into your powers and because you’ve had no training it’s causing you to become unstable,” Deaton explained to her gently.

“What do I do?” she covered her face with her hands.

“As I see it you have two choices. You can work with some friends of mine who will teach you how to control your gift or you can be insitutionalized because the magic is driving you insane,” the druid crossed his arms after explaining.

“Magic. Like Harry Potter?” Cassandra peeked from behind her hands. 

“I suppose,” Deaton sighed, sounding exhausted. “What’s it going to be?”

“I’ll take working with your friends for $100, Alex,” Cassandra said.

There, with that sarcastic comment-slash-culteral reference in the form of Jeopardy, Derek could see some of what would’ve attracted Stiles to this girl other than her good looks. Although if she’d had a 4.0 grade point average then she was smart, too. 

After a few phone calls, some of Deaton’s contacts were on their way to Cassandra’s apartment. Deaton pulled a card out of his duster and handed it to Cassandra. “If you ever need to talk to someone about your gift, please give me a call.”

The young lady tucked a curl behind her ear. “Will these stupid feelings fade?” she asked, little bunny teeth nibbling at her lower lip.

“Yes, Cassandra, I think your feelings for Stiles are a side effect of your burgeoning powers. With a little help you’ll soon have everything under control again,” the man explained with far more patience than Derek had.

Derek wanted to get on the road—now—and get back to Stiles.

“Thank you so much,” the girl said, clutching the business card in one hand. “Could you please tell Stiles I’m sorry?”

“Of course I will. Good luck to you, Cassandra,” and with those words, they took their leave. 

Derek realized he and Scott hadn’t said a word since before they’d entered Cassandra’s apartment. That was weird. Actually, this whole thing was weird.

Scott and Derek received a text at the same time. Both men stopped to read the message. It was a group text from Lydia.

_Stiles is awake and having a shower!_

Scott put his fist out and Derek bumped it.

“Good news I take it?” Deaton inquired.

“The best. Stiles is awake and moving around. You did it!” Scott enthused. 

“I would say it was a team effort. Now what do you say we get back to Beacon Hills and see for ourselves how young Stiles is faring,” the man responded before he slid smoothly into the passenger seat. “I think I’ve got a theory about Cassandra and her powers.”

Derek tucked the fabric clutched in his hand next to his right hip. He remembered the red hoody well. The urge to make Little Red Riding Hood comments had always been strong but he somehow had overcome them back in the day.

Firing up the SUV, Derek made sure everyone had their seatbelts on and then he was steering the vehicle back toward the highway. 

In deference to Deaton’s thoughts on his theory, Derek kept quiet. He occasionally met Scott’s eyes in the rearview mirror and both men smiled when this happened.

They’d all worked together and done something positive. This is why Derek had moved back to Beacon Hills. At least it was one of the reasons.

-0-

Derek was nervous as he walked up to the front door of the two story house. He hadn’t been able to stick around earlier, he needed to cover a shift at the Community Center, so he’d been forced to drop Scott and Deaton off before he headed into work without a glimpse of the formerly cursed Stiles.

Now the only thing holding Derek back from seeing Stiles with his own eyes was his nerves.

Scott opened the door, gesturing for Derek to enter. He kept talking to someone in the other room. “It was the weirdest thing. I recognized Cassandra but I couldn’t figure out where I’d seen her before.”

Lydia huffed out a breath. “Really. I only saw a picture of her once and I picked up on the resemblance right away.”

Derek plunged into the conversation, agreeing with Scott. “I thought the same thing but I couldn’t figure out where I would’ve seen her before.”

“Oh my God! I’m surrounded by idiots,” Lydia flounced over to Derek and manhandled him so he was standing in front of the mirror inside of the front door. “Look in the mirror, doofus.”

Shocked by the contact, Derek went along with Lydia’s demands, staring at the mirror. He saw what he always saw whenever he looked at himself: Dark hair, hazel eyes, big front teeth. He scowled at the mirror. He didn’t get it.

“Cassandra looks like a female you,” Lydia explained, rolling her eyes. “You do know Stiles is bi, right?”

Derek spun away from the mirror as his face flamed in an embarassed blush. “Yeah, I knew.” He’d maybe figured that out before Stiles had himself; the other man, then a boy, gave off strong pheremones anytime someone attractive, male or female, was around.

“Are you finally going to pull your head out of your ass?” Lydia demanded.

Scott guffawed from the other room. 

Lydia turned on the other man. “You didn’t see the resemblance either. Some keen observation skills you’ve got there, Alpha.”

Scott’s laughter dried up and he sputtered.

The moment passed when Stiles came down the stairs. To Derek’s eyes he still looked too thin and drawn but his color was a bit healthier and his whisky eyes had a sparkle to them again.

“Come on, Scott. It’s time we were going,” Lydia grabbed Scott’s arm and dragged him toward the door.

“But—” Scott looked over his shoulder but caved to the small woman’s wishes. “Talk to you later, Stiles!”

“Bye, guys!” Stiles called back, smiling. He turned his attention to Derek. “Do you want something to drink?”

“I wouldn’t mind some more coffee if you have it,” Derek admitted. He’d never gotten a chance the cup he’d started that morning. His body metabolized the caffeine too quickly to get a jolt from it but nothing satisfied his taste buds quite like a black cup of coffee.

“Yeah, sure, we always have coffee made,” Stiles replied as they entered the kitchen. “Have a seat.”

Derek sat in a kitchen chair. It didn’t have any padding and was hard on his ass but he enjoyed being in the cozy room, especially with Stiles.

“So did Deaton tell you he thinks my so called spark brought Cassandra’s powers online?” Stiles asked as he moved about the kitchen.

“No, he didn’t. He just announced he had a theory,” Derek replied. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s victim blaming,” Stiles grumbled.

Derek worried about this new developement. Would Stiles be put at risk in the fugure because of his spark status? Derek didn’t know much about sparks but he resolved to find out more as soon as possible. He planned on sticking around and, more importantly, keeping the other man safe.

Stiles set a full mug down in front of Derek. “I wanted to say thank you for taking care of me.” His eyes were downcast and his voice sincere.

Derek could feel the blush move through his cheeks and down his neck. It even pushed into the tips of his ears. “You’re welcome. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

It was Stiles’s turn to blush and the color looked good on him.

Stiles sat down in the chair across from Derek’s and Derek noticed the other man had something cradled in his big hands. 

“What do you have there?” Derek asked. 

Stiles set whatever he held on the table. “I found my Magic 8 Ball in the closet. I know it’s not the same as Deaton’s but I thought it might be fun to dig out.”

Derek took a deep breath. Now was his opportunity to ask Stiles the question that had burning in his mind since he’d seen the young man at yoga class that first time a little over a week ago. “Can I see your Magic 8 Ball?”

Well, that wasn’t the question. But it was a good place to start.

Stiles grabbed the black and white globe and handed it to Derek.

Flipping the globe over, Derek asked, “Will Stiles go out on a date with me?”

Gently he turned the Magic 8 Ball over.

_Signs point to yes._

Holding it carefully between his hands, Derek held it toward Stiles. “Is it right?”

Derek was almost afraid to make eye contact. He didn’t know what he would do if Stiles turned him down. He hadn’t felt this level of comfort with someone, along with intense attraction, in a long time. He was almost afraid to get his hopes up after everything he’d been through with his other relationships.

But Stiles was different. So was Derek. Now.

Looking up Derek found Stiles staring back, eyes crinkled at the corners and the lopsided grin Derek found so adorable making an appearance. “Hell, yeah. I’ve had a taste for an omelet ever since you offered to make me one.”

“Would you like to come back to my place?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

 

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> That wraps up my prompt on the Hurt/Comfort Bingo Card for cursed. This was perhaps one of my silliest outings to date but I need fluffy right now. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
